


Chance Meetings

by ohmyfae



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Complicated Relationships, M/M, Noct doesn't always bottom, Oral Sex, Sex Work, Size Difference, This has a lot of Amicitia feelings but Gladio isn't in need of rescue, to say the least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-10-31 13:22:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10900221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyfae/pseuds/ohmyfae
Summary: For the kinkmeme:Noctis was driving down the streets of Insomnia, trying to grab at least a moment of freedom before he had to go back to his carefully-regulated life as the future king, when he got lost in an unknown part of the city... and ran into a hopelessly attractive escort who called himselfGladio.Which, if Noct were thinking with hisbrain,should have been an oddly familiar name...





	1. Chapter 1

Gladiolus Amicitia ran away at twelve.

He'd planned for over a year. He saved up what funds he'd already earned as Prince Noctis' Shield-in-training, quietly pawned off pieces of jewelry that no one in the Amicitia household was likely to miss, and planned three escape routes. One would be found by his father: A straight line heading out of Insomnia, perfect for a young aristocrat who threw together an escape on the fly. The second was his, a winding path into the lower city and right to the kind landlady who didn't care how old her lodgers happened to be. The third would be found by his sister, he hoped. A getaway option, if she needed to use it.

He hoped she didn't have to.

When Gladio ran away, the city swallowed him.

Prince Noctis ran away at fifteen. And sixteen. And seventeen. And seventeen, and seventeen, and seventeen...

He was running now. Sure, his "escapes" only existed in his own head, in daydreams of sticking it to the ring of the Lucii, to the crystal, to _destiny,_ and gunning the gas of his car towards the unused exit from Insomnia. But they were real so long as his hands were on the wheel.

He'd taken two wrong turns already on his way to the north-side penthouse where he lived, and the navigation app on the Star of Lucis (a gift for his nineteenth birthday, and the source of most of his advisor's recent migraines) was acting up. He couldn't remember being in this part of the city before-The buildings were so much lower, the architecture a mix of new plaster being fitted over old foundations. A row of banners and a crooked stoplight fitted over an empty cafe told him enough, though. The red-light district. Shit.

He locked his windows, just in case.

Alright, maybe if he turned around and started taking right turns, he'd eventually find himself on the main street again. But that only took him to the same road in the end. Noct cursed and swerved to the curb, where he let the motor run as he pulled up a map on his phone.

That's when he saw him.

Not four feet from where his car had wedged one wheel on the sidewalk, a massive, broad-shouldered young man with the kind of musculature that would make high-end underwear models give up their dreams in furious tears watched him curiously. He had a sideways smirk that made Noct's stomach clench, and was looking over the car with amusement just short of a laugh. Noct felt his cheeks flush with heat, and closed his app.

Noctis didn't know he had a type before.

He reached for the manual lock on the opposite door, and nearly fell twice before he hit the right button. The man watching him straightened from the railing he was leaning on, and his grin took on an edge as Noct lowered the window.

"Uh," Noct said, with all the eloquence of a king.

"Lost?" the man called out. He rolled his shoulders, and Noct tried to track the shift of his muscles as his arms moved, the twist of inked feathers as the man's tattoo—which went down two sleeves and around his shoulders—slid in and out of view around his open leather jacket. His pants were leather as well, too grey to be considered royal black, and clung to the thick curve of his thighs as he strode up to the car. When he stopped to lean on one arm over the open window, it took Noct an embarrassingly long moment to speak.

"Yeah, kind of," Noct said. The man had dark hair in a punk style, with the sides shaved above his ears, but it was growing out into an awkward mullet at the back. Noct wondered what it would be like to sink his fingers into that hair.

"—and a left at Gold Avenue, three blocks south," the guy was saying. Noct attempted a nod. Shit, he missed half of his instructions. From the slow, smug look on the man's face, he knew.

"'Course," the guy said, and this time he crossed his arms on the edge of the window itself, hands dangling into the cool interior of the car. "Maybe a way home isn't all you're lookin' for?"

Noct stared at him. Ignis' voice sounded in his mind: _Don't you dare, Noctis, think of the scandal, the paparazzi have your apartment on a constant watch, it's bad enough with Prompto staying over half the week..._

"What the hell," he said, and the guy smiled, a flash of teeth. "I guess you're right."

 

\---

 

The escort's handle was _Gladio,_ his rates were fixed, he had a place they could rent for the night if Noct didn't want to take him home, and he was clean. He proved this last part by showing Noct one of the testing strips the Citadel health center threw into the red-light district like paper at a parade: All he had to do was press a thumb to the center of the strip, and the magically-imbued chip underneath would flash green for clean, and red for someone who needed to go to a clinic to get a second opinion. It wasn't foolproof, but it was, according to Gladio, anyway, a pretty useful system. Noct tried it out himself just for kicks, and Gladio gave an exaggerated sigh of relief when it came out green.

"So, your place or mine?"

"Mine works," Noct said. The car screeched as it peeled off the curb, and Gladio winced.

"Missed the turn-off if you want to head to the North side," he said. Noct groaned, and Gladio scooted the seat back, letting his long legs stretch out. "Take a left. What do I call you?"

"Uh, Noct, I guess." Noct turned left and found himself facing the main street. Gladio snorted.

"What, like the prince? Well, your car's nice enough. I'll go with it." When Noct didn't respond, he saw Gladio sit up out of the corner of his eye. "No. No, _really?_ "

"Don't start bowing or anything," Noct said. But that didn't seem to be a danger. Gladio was grinning, guileless and so wide it had to be true, shoulders shaking from the effort of trying not to laugh.

" _You're_ the _prince._ "

"What?" Noct asked. Gladio's amusement was starting to tick him off. "So? Look, I can take you back."

Gladio shook his head. "Nah, that ain't it. Kind of an in-joke, sorry." He ran a hand over his forehead, brushing back his hair. "The prince of Lucis. _Fuck._ "

"If I pay you extra, can you never mention it again?"

Gladio did laugh at that. "Alright, alright, your _highness,_ I got you." Noct scowled. "Sorry. So, _not-a-prince-Noctis,_ we ain't goin' to the Citadel, right? That's off-limits for me."

"No, I don't live there anymore." Gladio gave him a strange look, then, but Noct was too busy trying not to total his car in mid-afternoon traffic to dwell on it.

They took the elevator to Noct's apartment from the garage, and Noct allowed himself a moment of pure panic in the minute and a half ride to the top floor. What was he _doing?_ It's not like he was a virgin—he supposed that a fumbling attempt that ended with a limp and a promise never to look the guy in the eyes again could count. But Gladio... Sure, he was approachable, and __nice, even if it was probably all part of the job, but he was big enough to snap Noct in half if he wanted.

The scary thing was, Noct kind of _did_ want it. He wanted it bad enough that he didn't even bother locking the door of the apartment behind him before digging his hands into that mane of hair and pulling Gladio's head down to his, drinking in the bemused sound of surprise in the other man's throat. He had to close his eyes when Gladio pushed him against the door so hard the hinges rattled, and holy hell, he was being lifted off the fucking _ground,_ Gladio was holding him up with one arm while his free hand cupped Noct's jaw and Noct was going to _die,_ he was going to die right there and someone else would have to save the fucking world because if just _kissing_ him was too much...

"Yeah, thought you'd like that," Gladio said, lips pressed to his neck. Noct swore he tried to say something back, but it came out a a whine. Gladio chuckled.

"Bed?" he asked.

"Gods, yes," Noct said.

He wasn't sure how it happened—he had a vague recollection of kicking his pants into the newly-cleaned corner of the living room—but by the time they stumbled into his bedroom, Noct was naked, Gladio's magnificent tattoo was fully revealed, and Noct was more than happy to help the man divest himself of his leather pants. And gods, if Gladio's chest was the sort that could make professional models weep, his cock would cause a full scale crisis of confidence throughout most of Insomnia. He wasn't sure how _anyone_ could take that, but gods be damned if he wasn't going to try-

Noct practically threw himself onto the bed, dragging Gladio down by the shoulders. Then Gladio sank lower still, and Noct didn't have much room for thought after that.

"Fuck," he managed to say, through the coiling heat in his gut, Gladio's tongue on his cock, the slide of his mouth. "How do you- I- Oh fuck, _Gladio._ "

Gladio pulled away a moment. "On a hair trigger, huh?"

"Shut up," Noct groaned, and fell back to find a pillow with which he could conveniently suffocate himself. Gladio hiked him further towards the edge of the bed by his hips, and Noct's hands fell limp over his head.

"Like being moved around?" Gladio asked. He ran his tongue over the head of Noct's cock again, and Noct tried not to moan. "You're one easy man to read, Noct." He jerked at his hips again, and swallowed him down before Noct could think of anything close to a smartass response.

It wasn't long before Noct was clawing at the sheets, hips bucking up to thrust into Gladio's mouth as he felt the tight pressure of impending release. Gladio sat back then, and Noct fucked into his fist, gasping for breath as he came.

"Not gonna pass out on me?" Gladio asked, as Noct let himself sink into the cool comfort of his bed. The larger man climbed over him, blocking out the overhead light, amber eyes gone dark.

"Hell no," Noct said. He yanked Gladio down by his hair once more. "We're not done."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, of course, a work of fiction, but a quick heads-up: Gladio's past does come into play, but it's going to be evident in later chapters that his work isn't something he was driven to or a source of tragedy for him. I just wanted to let y'all know now in case anyone was thinking, "Oh god, don't let this be a Gladio must be rescued from his tragic, oh-so-terrible life! story."


	2. Chapter 2

If someone had asked Noct a week ago, he'd probably have said that he was pretty quiet in bed. Jerking off was usually accompanied by a swollen lip or some heavy breathing at most, and the one time he'd been on the receiving end, he spent most of the time swearing and trying to tell his one-time boyfriend what to _do._ Cursing didn't count as loud, not really.

Which was why Noct was surprised to find that, under Gladio's hand, he was ten minutes away from losing his fucking voice. Gladio wasn't even trying, just kissing his neck and twisting three fingers into him just _so,_ and _damn_ if Noct's voice didn't echo.

"If you don't fuck me soon," Noct rasped, staring up at Gladio's collarbone, "I'm gonna die."

"That's an image," Gladio said. "Prince Noctis, killed by his- by an escort, more news at eleven. Think I'll get exile for that, or a public execution?"

"Ha, ha," Noct said, dryly. He arched his back as Gladio stretched him out, lube-slick fingers rubbing against his rim. "Appeal to Dad, he'll probably go for exile. Just don't. Fuck. Don't let his Shield get to you, that guy's intense."

Gladio stilled for a moment, and Noct tried to focus through the sudden loss of the burn and drag of pleasure. Gladio's brows were lowered, a crease forming between them, and the line of his back was straight with tension.

"Hey," Noct said. "Just a joke."

"Right," Gladio said, in a voice that didn't sound much like the utter magnificent _bastard_ of a man who had spent the last half hour bringing Noct to the edge of orgasm and back again. He pulled his fingers out, and the smile he gave Noct seemed more practiced, like the one he'd worn at the window of his car. "How do you want to do this?"

Noct wordlessly rolled over, and Gladio laid a large hand on the back of his neck. "Shoulda known you'd end up a pillow princess, Noct."

Something about the way he said it made Noct wonder, but then he was being lifted onto his knees and braced against the headboard, and that was it for clear cognitive thought. Gladio's shadow eclipsed his against the dark wood, and Noct felt his heartbeat spike, savored the heat of the larger man leaning over him. The head of Gladio's cock brushed against his entrance, and Noct shuddered, trying to will himself to relax. Gladio laid a hand over his lower back, fingers running along the bumps of an old scar, gentling him.

When he pushed in, Noct tightened his grip on the edge of the headboard. Gladio took it slow at first, starting with shallow movements until the pain gave way.

"Doin' great, Noct," he said, in that same soft voice. His hand glided up Noct's back, along the ridges of his spine, and smoothed out over his neck. Noct moaned, and Gladio pulled back and thrust in again, jerking him forward.

"Fucking hell," Noct hissed. Gladio repeated the motion, and he laid his forehead against the headboard. "A little harder, big guy."

"Can't say no to royalty." Noct couldn't see it, but he was pretty sure Gladio was winking. Fucking gorgeous asshole _sex-god._ Noct wailed when Gladio slammed in hard enough to rock the headboard against the wall, and bit down on his knuckles to silence himself.

"Nah, don't do that." Gladio pulled Noct's hand away. "I'm a vain guy, I like to know when you're enjoying it."

Noct rolled his eyes, and cried out again as Gladio started up a punishing pace, angling himself so that his cock pushed against Noct's prostate at nearly every forward thrust.

It wasn't long before Noct's legs gave way. He collapsed onto the pillow, lost in the feel of Gladio's hand in his hair, letting out broken, embarrassing moans as he was rocked forward. Every now and then Gladio would grab him by the thighs and pull him back so he didn't knock himself out on the headboard, but Noct was honestly too far gone to care. He came for the second time that afternoon with his cock pressed hard to the tangled mess of sheets, and Gladio fucked him through it, chasing his own release as Noct dropped into a senseless fog.

He whimpered, fucking _whimpered_ at the empty ache of his ass when Gladio pulled out, and he fell onto his side while the man went off to dispose of his condom. Gladio came back a minute later, one knee on the mattress, and smiled down at him.

"Doin' okay?" he asked. "Need anything to drink?"

"You're..." Noct swallowed around a throat made hoarse from shouting. "So humble."

"That's what they always tell me," Gladio said, and lay on the bed next to him. "Come on, beautiful, don't tell me you ain't a snuggler. I can tell."

"God, you're an ass," Noct mumbled, and rolled into Gladio's side. He felt the laugh in the other man's chest, and let himself drift off, lulled by the warmth of Gladio's body and the boneless languor of pleasure.

 

\---

 

When Noct woke, he was alone, and there was the sound of running water in the connecting bathroom. He gingerly eased himself off the bed and hobbled to the stack of half-finished energy drinks Ignis kept pestering him to dispose of. He picked one that was mostly full and called up magic to his fingers, shaping it into a rough restorative potion. It went down like mud, but some of the ache was already starting to go away.

The bathroom door opened, and he turned to find Gladio buttoning up his leather pants, hair hanging damp over his eyes.

"Sorry to take up your shower," Gladio said. "It's been a while since I've used a walk-in." He glanced around and picked up his discarded jacket. "Hate to be mercenary, but about payment..."

"Oh, right." Noct flushed. For some reason, he half expected Gladio to... stick around, maybe. Stay for dinner. Smile at him more. Noct bit down on his lower lip and looked for his phone, which was tossed to the floor just outside the bedroom.

When he flipped it on, he groaned softly. Five missed calls.

"Something wrong?"

"Sort of," Noct said. He scrolled through a series of texts full of dagger emojis. "I missed training with my Shield. She's gonna kick my ass tomorrow."

Gladio's voice was a little too light. "Your Shield's a girl?"

Noct shrugged. "Yeah. Iris. She's kind of terrifying. You do payment through Moogle-plex?"

Gladio blinked at him, lips parted as though about to speak. Then he stepped forward, all business again, and pulled out his phone.

"You know," Noct said, as they stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the anonymous wire transfer go through. "We can always... Do this again. If you want to."

The look Gladio gave him was carefully impassive, and for a second Noct worried that he'd overstepped, misjudged their situation and put Gladio into an uncomfortable position. He opened his mouth to backtrack, but then Gladio's lips quirked in that familiar sideways smile, and he leaned in to give Noct a slow, lingering kiss.

"Sure," he said. "Sounds like a plan."


	3. Chapter 3

Gladio was _fucked._

He climbed the stairs leading to his apartment two at a time, juggling a bag of groceries under his arm. The door tended to stick in the humidity that hung around the red-light district like an eternal heatwave, so he didn't have to bother with a key—Not many people could kick it open like he could, anyways. He shoved it shut after him, threw his groceries on the kitchen island, and slipped off his shoes. 

"Honey, I'm home," he called. Honey, the one-eyed, massively overweight ginger cat who didn't so much belong to Gladio as use him for food and a dry place to sleep, rolled onto her side at the far window and _meeped._

Technically, Gladio should have been out by now. The night was young, and it was a late spring break for the university kids—Which meant plenty of obnoxious guys who thought they could get away with a free blowjob, but more who were willing to pay twice what Gladio made working the door at the club any given night. 

Still, some things took precedence. He fed Honey, who took one look at the proffered kibble and sighed like the world had ended, watered his hanging orchids (a gift from a former client, poor guy), and sat down on his loveseat in order to have a minor emotional breakdown. 

He'd just fucked Prince Noctis. 

This went so far beyond his first rule—Never go near _anyone_ from the Citadel, no matter how high they were willing to pay—that Gladio had come out the other side. With a little imagination, he could clearly see what he'd made of his life go toppling over the edge. He should have backed out the moment he heard Noct's name. This wasn't just some low level diplomat or a clerk scouting the district for a distraction. This was _Noct,_ the _prince,_ Gladio's... well, Gladio's former reason for _existing._

He couldn't remember a time when he wasn't supposed to be Noct's Shield. His dad started training him as soon as he was able to hold a sword, had impressed on him the importance of upholding the Amicitia family name, of always putting the prince above himself no matter how bratty said prince could be at any given time. He was always being pushed to train harder, to be _stronger,_ and every time he slipped up or slowed down, his dad would be there to remind him of exactly what his failure would mean.

It didn't seem like he was ever getting any better. Sometimes he'd score a strike or pull off a drill perfectly, and he'd look to his father for approval only to get a lecture on pride and the news that he should have mastered this _weeks_ ago. It got to the point where he'd lie awake at night, examining every misstep, trying to figure out what he could do for his father to declare him _good enough._

Then Noct fell to the Marilith, and his father took Gladio to the room where he was being kept, which reeked of antiseptic and hummed with magic. 

_This is the price of failure,_ his father had told him. _This is what happens when we do not fulfill our duty._

Gladio had watched Noctis' ragged breathing, heard the beep of the monitors, and knew, deep down, that he would never be enough. It had to be what his father had been trying to tell him all along. Noct deserved a _true_ Amicitia, someone who could protect him properly, give up their life for him if needed, and Gladio wasn't it. 

So he proved his father right, and ran. 

In hindsight, Gladio realized his father probably hadn't meant to be so literal, but by the time he figured that out, it was too late to go home. So he made a new life for himself in the one part of the city people from his old one would never go, and convinced himself that in the end, he'd been doing the prince a favor.

He thought of the way the pink skin of the scars on Noct's back had shifted under his touch. How _angry_ he'd seemed in the car, palpable as magic fizzing away just under his skin. Gladio recognized that sort of anger, the bitter frustration that made hands clench too tight on the wheel or eyes narrow at the slightest provocation. He knew that the threat of the crown was a heavy weight to carry—His father had told him _that_ enough times. But for Noct to leave the Citadel and take up a place of his own... Maybe there was more to it. 

No. It wasn't his problem. Iris, though, that was concerning. He hadn't thought she would actually be trained to be a Shield after he left--but if she was still sticking around at, gods, was she _fourteen_ now?, then the training might not have been too hard for her. 

_Might haves_ and _maybes_ didn't cut it. He had to know for sure, and the only way to do that was to... To go back to Noctis.

Gladio sighed. Honey stretched too wide and fell onto the floor, where she oozed into a patch of light from a nearby bar. 

"Fuck it," he said, and got up, leaving his jacket behind. Rent was due in a few weeks, and he couldn't afford to spend all night moping just because he'd made the second biggest fuckup in his known life. He checked his back pockets for condoms and lube, silenced his phone, and headed out into the night.

 

\---

 

"Noc-tis!" 

Noct turned to Iris Amicitia with the bone-weary exhaustion reserved only for those who had been fucked thoroughly into their mattress the night before. Iris, being fourteen, one-third sunshine incarnate and the other two-thirds pure evil, either failed to recognize it or didn't care. She raised her practice sword with a grin.

Noct heaved his into position.

He was face-first in the dirt within seconds. Iris sighed and placed a foot between his shoulder blades, then whipped out her phone. 

"Hold still," she said. "I'm putting this on Choco-filter. Prince Noctis, 0, Iris Amicitia, 12."

"Don't you fucking dare," Noct said, but Iris shifted her foot in a spot that made it nearly impossible to move without pulling a muscle. He glared up at her instead, breathing dust through his nose.

"What do you think," she asked. "Rainbow stickers, or unicorns?" When Noct didn't say anything, she nodded to herself. "Unicorns, definitely." She tapped her phone twice, then leaned down. "So what's your deal, Noct? You're not usually this bad."

"Kind of tired," Noct muttered. Iris lifted her foot, and he rolled over. "Had a long night."

"Playing video games?" She leaned on her sword. "Wish _I_ could play. Daddy says not 'til I'm fifteen."

"That's cause all the games _you_ like are gore-fests, Iris."

Iris stuck out her tongue at him, and jumped as her phone buzzed. "Speak of the devil," she said, and frowned. "Dad's got something going on at Council. Again."

Noct dragged himself to his feet. Iris was gazing down at her phone with a forlorn look he'd grown to recognize. "Father-daughter day canceled?"

"Just put off," Iris said. "Probably tomorrow. You know how he is."

Noct did know. Everyone did, those days. Clarus Amicitia took the concept of Overprotective Dad to a new level: He was always texting Iris, dropping by during practice to see how she was doing, arranging and rearranging his schedule so they could go out to the slasher films Iris seemed to like so much. No one ever talked about it, not directly. That would mean talking about Iris' brother, whose name hadn't been spoken in so long that Noct wasn't sure he remembered it anymore, and even the suggestion of him sent Iris into a dark mood and made Clarus go silent and withdrawn. It was the one subject he couldn't breach with his friend, and it hurt that in some way, he might have been responsible. 

Maybe if he'd paid attention more, he would have seen the signs. He would have _stopped_ him, or talked to him, or done anything but think of himself and how annoying daily sword practice was. 

"Hey," Noct said. He'd meant to call Gladio that night, but it was probably too soon anyways, and Iris was more important. "You want to hang at my place tonight? I can invite Prompto—He has that Grand Theft Chocobo game he's been meaning to break in."

Iris' gaze softened, and she punched Noct in the shoulder so hard he almost fell. "Oh, Noct," she said, with a shaky smile. "You're too good to me."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was pretty involved in the drag scene and LGBTQ clubs back in my not-so-distant youth, and I thought it would be interesting to see where Gladio would fit in all that! It definitely brought back memories.

"Take your time, Noct."

Noctis laughed weakly and bent double, resting his forehead on the ridges of Gladio's abs. Gladio's hips were canted upwards over a dislodged couch pillow, his pupils blown, hair mussed and finger-combed back, and his thighs locked the prince in place. Noct was trembling, dangerously close just from the sensation of being fully sheathed in Gladio, and he tasted salt on his skin as hands kneaded at the knots in his shoulders. 

"I swear I've done this before," Noct said. He licked a stripe up Gladio's abs and moved higher, circled a taut nipple with his tongue, flicking it idly as Gladio let out an appreciative moan. Gladio kept working out the tension in Noct's shoulders, rolling the muscle slowly while Noct teased his nipples into sore, swollen peaks. 

He hadn't thought Gladio would say yes when he texted his work phone the day before. He'd gone most of the night checking his messages, but the texted response (full of chatspeak and emojis—Noct was doomed to have only one acquaintance who texted in full sentences) came around five am. Gladio had been working a club for Ladies' Night, and hadn't made it home until almost dawn. But sure, he said. A second round sounded fine.

So there they were, sprawled out on Noct's couch with sunlight streaming over the hardwood floors, Noct's fingers tracing the lines of Gladio's tattoo as they both adjusted to the feel of Noct seated inside him. Noct tried a shallow thrust, and Gladio rolled his hips to meet him, smiling wickedly at the way Noct bit down on his lip to keep from coming then and there.

"Don't sweat it," Gladio said. "I like it slow."

Noct gave him a dubious look, but started to move, both hands gripping Gladio's chest for balance. Gladio raised a hand, hesitated for a breath, and then traced the line of Noct's face, studying it with that same unreadable expression as before.

"So," Noct said, "What's Ladies' Night?"

Gladio cupped the back of his head, scruffing his fingers through Noct's hair. "Oh, you know. Spring break, so the clubs have events for the straight girls. Mostly drag shows, stripteases."

Noct raised his eyebrows. "You do drag?" 

"Nah, I'm either on the door or I'm a backup dancer. What? I _can_ dance." He pulled Noct in for a kiss, seemingly to make him breathless enough not to laugh. "I'm friends with one of the Queens, Lady Lulu, and she's got this thing where her backup guys wear, you know, feathers, so I'm her main pick." He gestured to his hawk tattoo. 

"Feathers," Noct said, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. "So what's your role as her main guy?"

"Usually? Being stepped on. Hey, don't knock it, prince charmless." He kissed Noct again, fierce and quick. "I'd say you should come and see her, but somehow I think that ain't possible."

Noct thought of what Ignis would do if he found out he'd snuck into a club for Ladies' Night so he could see the escort he'd been hiring get stepped on while wearing a feathered costume. His mind, usually able to conjure most of Ignis' weary sighs and groans of frustration, came up disturbingly blank. 

"Yeah, I think I'll pass."

Gladio rocked his hips up to pull Noct in deeper, and Noct let out a short gasp. "Can't go out much when you're the prince, huh?"

"Not really," Noct said. He lowered his hands to Gladio's waist, and thrust in a little harder. Gladio's thighs closed in on either side of him, and he felt a foot nudge his lower back, too gently to irritate the scars there but enough to urge him on. He picked up the pace, and Gladio lay his head back on the couch cushions. Noct cursed under his breath and leaned over him--but Gladio was so _fucking_ big that Noct's forehead ended up just under his chin. Large arms wrapped around him, holding him flush to Gladio's chest, practically moving Noct's body _for_ him. The sound he made when he came was breathy and keening, and he let Gladio hold him for a minute, easing him down. 

This time, Gladio actually stuck around. Noct bribed him with Ignis' leftover pastries, and Gladio leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter, looking up at the photos on the far wall. 

"I'm kind of shocked they let you out of the Citadel," he said, after a minute of contemplative silence. "I heard security's tight up there."

Noct shrugged. "It is, sort of, but..." He tried to find a way to phrase it without going into dangerous territory. "Things got... bad, when I was fifteen. With, you know." He made a helpless gesture.

"The king," Gladio said. "Niflheim. Everything." Noct narrowed his eyes. Gladio had spoken with conviction, like he _knew._ "I told you before, Noct. You're an easy guy to read."

He pushed aside the feeling of unease and took a bite of his pastry. "Yeah, so it was get a place away from it all, or run off on my own."

"And running ain't an option," Gladio said. 

There was that certainty in his voice again, firm enough to bend steel around. Noct caught his gaze, and for a second, a strange understanding passed through them, at once familiar and undeniably out of place. It was the kind of look Noct saw in Ignis or Iris, sometimes in Prompto, but never on someone so distant from his life at court. 

Gladio pushed his plate away, and the disconcerting feeling snapped like a wire. "C'mere," he said, stepping out of his chair. He kissed Noct softly just under the ear. "There's still daylight to kill."

They ended up on the bed that time, Gladio worshiping his body with slow, lazy caresses that built up his desire like a rising heat. He ran his mouth over the scars at Noct's lower back while Noct told him about the parts of the Citadel he liked–The practice courts where he trained with his Shield, the solarium he and Ignis used to sneak off to during lunch, the empty roof where infrequent galas were held. Gladio urged him on, coaxed the words out of him, twisted them up in the incoherent babble of desire that always threatened to spill free when Noct was on edge. He disappeared under Gladio, rolled over in his arms to find his eyes overbright, his smile wan. 

"Sounds nice, is all," Gladio said, when Noct asked, and kissed him on the temple. It was tender. Fond. Not what Noct had expected, that day when he'd seen Gladio grinning at him from the sidewalk. 

"Maybe I can get you in," Noct said, and Gladio shook his head, reaching down to ghost his fingers over Noct's weeping cock. 

"Not everything I do in my line of work is legal," he said, and closed his fingers around Noct as though to prove the point. Noct's eyes fluttered wide open. He insinuated himself closer to Noct as the prince gasped and shivered through an overpowering wave of pleasure. "Places like that ain't made for people like me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should note that the last line has more to do with Gladio's hangups re: Not being a proper Shield/Amicitia than anything else.


	5. Chapter 5

"Flower-boy, you are a _mess!_ " Gladio rolled his eyes as Lady Lulu, his friend of five years and the only person he'd let talk him into wearing spandex, swooped through the curtains of The Birds of Paradise main stage. She was wearing a white sleeveless dress hiked to the thigh on one side, but her garter-belt was still undone and her sun-styled golden hairpiece was under one arm. She pressed her hands on either side of Gladio's face and squeezed. "I love it. Who is he? She? They?"

"I don't have time for that," Gladio said. Lulu was too damn perceptive. "I'm just workin' late, that's all. Want me to help with your hair?"

"If I want to look like seven kinds of crap, of course, go right ahead." Lulu shoved him aside and squinted into the mirror at Gladio's back. "That bitch Her Majesty Ardenzunia stole my song for the second show. I'm gonna have to do _Julie's Girl_ again. Good thing the regulars are gone with the college crowd on the loose." She looked at Gladio through the mirror, dark eyes sharp. "That what's running you ragged?"

Gladio, who was starting to let the endless cycle of infighting between Lulu and Ardenzunia wash over him like the sound of traffic outside, jerked to attention. "What's that?"

"Oh, there you are again," Lulu said. "Straight-backed like a soldier." Gladio flinched, and she nudged him with a pointed toe. "Who is it, flower? Am I gonna have to kick someone's balls in for you?"

Gladio covered his face with both hands. "Gods _damn_ it."

"I was _right!_ Make it quick, though, we're on as soon as Yuna-Freya does that new... dominatrix thing she has going on."

Gladio wasn't sure he _could_ make it quick. Things with Noct were... well, it was hard to say they were getting out of hand when they were never really _in_ hand to begin with. Gladio couldn't keep away. He had his regulars, of course—Everyone did—but they weren’t on what anyone would call speaking terms. Plenty of them talked about their problems in bed, but Gladio was careful to paint any pictures of _his_ life as vaguely as possible.

With Noct, the line between his professional and private life was already starting to blur. Noct knew about his landlady, how old he was when he started bussing tables at the cafes in the district, which bar was feuding with which and why. He even knew about Gladio’s _cat._ And one time, just a few days ago, Gladio was lying in bed with the sun-blocking curtains down, and he could have sworn he’d heard Noct’s laugh rattling about in his head. 

It was because he knew him before. It had to be. Gladio had watched as the trash in Noct’s apartment piled up, as countertops grew cloudy with grime and the floors thick with grit. Then he’d come in later to find the place sparkling, or half the mess cleaned up and tossed in a corner, and Noct taking care to open up all the windows when he walked in. He saw the fear in Noct’s eyes when he looked to the magical wall surrounding Insomnia, felt the tension in his skin that never seemed to fully fade. Gladio had learned of the price the Amicitias had to pay for their roles, but later, as Noctis lay beneath him, trembling with release but still wound up with a deep, residing dread, he was starting to understand the price of being a Caelum.

Gladio remembered being ten, exhausted and overwhelmed by a training session that had gone nowhere. He didn’t know why, but floundering in a fog of misery, he’d crawled under a table in one of the reading rooms to cry. His father had found him there, and for a second all Gladio could see in the old Shield’s face was bewilderment. Then he’d hauled Gladio up by the arm, said something about an Amicitia never giving way to their emotions, and ordered him to run it off. 

A good Shield helped carry their monarch’s burden. Once, when Gladio was looking into Noctis’ eyes as he drew a long, throaty wail from the prince’s throat, he wondered if he wasn’t fulfilling that duty in another way. Then he’d laughed ‘til he cried, and had to assure a worried and slightly defensive Noct that it was nothing—Just a passing thought.

Still, he was getting too close. Just the night before, Gladio had been riding Noct on one of his couches. They were laughing over something—a story about one of Noct’s friends trying to sneak a live chocobo out of a petting zoo—when the door had opened and a man with a light Tenebraean accent had let out an impressive string of curses. Then, as he hurriedly disengaged, he heard the prince choke out:

“ _Ignis?_ ”

Ignis. Gladio _knew_ Ignis. He was only a year younger than him, and they weren't exactly strangers. When Noct was too deep in his coma for Ignis and Gladio’s livelihoods to be secure anymore, the two of them had spent too many afternoons together to count, just talking. Ignis was one of the few people Gladio considered telling his plans to, but he'd always been so unflaggingly loyal to the crown that he couldn't bring himself to risk it. 

Gladio kept his back turned as Noct struggled to throw on his discarded underwear.

“Shit, Specs, I told you I had someone over.”

“Ah, yes,” Ignis said. Gods, his voice had finally broken. “I can see that. Noctis, if I may… have a word.”

“You can go _home_ and we can have a word _later._ ”

“It’s good,” Gladio said, gruffly. He fumbled for his clothes. “I’ll get a cab.” He shimmied into his jeans and shrugged on his jacket while Ignis and Noct engaged in the least vocal debate known to man. They seemed to accomplish it mostly through a series of complex frowns and occasional whispers. 

“Gladio, don’t,” Noct said, and Gladio knew then that the _amusing_ choice of a handle that he’d unwittingly given Noct at the start had finally come back to bite him. Ignis turned to Gladio with a stare that could freeze a behemoth in its tracks, and his lips moved minutely, repeating the word in astonished silence. 

“Just a stage name, Noct,” Gladio said, pushing past them. Noct reached for his arm, and he gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house tonight.” He jerked free and strode towards the outer stairwell, too flustered to think about using the elevator. It gave him enough time to hear Ignis’ strangled response.

“ _On the house?_ Noctis, did you bring home a—“

Gladio slammed the stair doors shut behind him, and raced down the steps.

 

“Holy shit,” Lulu said, when Gladio had given her the two-minute version. “If you used to be neighbors or whatever, how the hell’d your client not _know_ you?”

“It’s been a while,” Gladio said. “And he ain’t the observant type. Not like you.”

“Don’t flatter me when I’m trying to be outraged for you, baby.” Lulu propped a foot on Gladio’s thigh, and he dutifully tied her garters. “You should drop him. If he knows your dad, that kind of secret isn’t going to last. Drop him and lay low. He doesn’t know where you work, right?” 

Gladio just tied up her other garter in shamefaced silence. 

“Fucking _shit,_ Gladio!”

“Lulu, you’re up!” called one of the other men in their show. “Quit flirting with Gladio and get your ass out there.”

Lulu gave Gladio a look that meant, _This isn’t over,_ adjusted the front of her dress, and snapped her fingers. Gladio followed her through the first set of curtains, where he lined up with the other dancers in their set and stared out through the sheer veil between them and the stage. 

The crowd was mostly twenty-something women who looked too drunk to function, with a few scattered regulars here and there. As the MC sent Yuna-Freya and her dancers off the stage to riotous applause, Gladio caught sight of an untidy mess of dark hair just to the left of the catwalk. He swore. 

“Baby?” Lulu asked, voice muffled through a flashy grin.

“It’s him,” Gladio whispered. “He’s here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was once backstage at a show when it was revealed that three performers all changed their minds last minute and would be singing Halo that night. The stage manager nearly wept.   
> Show business is volatile!


	6. Chapter 6

This was probably a mistake. 

A lot of what Noct had done in the past month or so was probably a mistake. According to Ignis, anyway. 

Noct stood in the crowd at the Birds of Paradise bar and dance club, and watched Lady Lulu, the third Lunafreya-inspired act that night, step onto the stage. She was smiling, her teeth dazzlingly white, enormous hair done up in a gold sunburst crown, and a line of men in gold spandex thongs covered in white feathers stood behind her. Just at her left, shoulders shining with glitter and eyes dark under gold-dusted lids, was Gladio. 

He spoke into Lady Lulu’s ear, and she glanced Noct’s way. Noct tried to sink back into the crowd, but it was too thick around him, and he couldn’t retreat. 

_Definitely_ a mistake.

Ignis hadn’t exactly minced words. After spending a solid ten minutes explaining every possible security breach that Noctis had unwittingly been party to by bringing an escort into an apartment containing top-secret Council briefings, he sat Noct down and held him by the shoulders.

“I thought you would know better than this, Noctis,” he’d said. Noct’s heart sank—Ignis was his best friend, closer even than Prompto and Iris, and the disappointment in his eyes hurt. “By the Six, he even used Gladiolus’ _name._ Didn’t you ever think it might be a ploy to get close to you?”

“I thought.” Noct realized as he said it that it had to be the weakest excuse he ever made. “I thought it was, I don’t know, short for Gladiator. He said it was a stage name.”

Ignis sighed and leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Noct’s. 

“You know I love you, Noctis,” he said. _That_ didn’t sound promising. “And your tendency to… pick up strays… is a part of that. You have a good heart. But that means that you have to _guard_ it from people who want to exploit you.”

“Glad—“ Ignis winced, and Noct changed tactics. “He’s not exploiting me.”

Ignis sat back, and the pity on his face was worse than the disapproval. “He used the name of your old Shield, Noctis,” he said, in a soft, gentle tone. His fingers squeezed Noct’s shoulders tight. “The one whose runaway was public, and dominated the news cycle for _years._ He knew what he was doing.”

Noct fell silent, staring at his hands.

“Still,” Ignis said. “Something wasn’t right. The way he wouldn’t look at me… He may have something further to hide. I’ll have to make a call.” He rose from the couch. “Stay here, Noctis. I’ll be back shortly.”

Noct thought of what Gladio had said, several weeks back. _Not everything I do in my line of work is legal._ And Ignis, who had only the best intentions for Noct, who was only looking out for him as any friend would, was _making a call._

He had to warn him.

And so Noct watched as Lady Lulu’s song started, men falling about her feet as she moved about the stage. Gladio was her favorite to toy with—She kept spinning him around to show off his tattoo, running her hands over his shoulders only to push him backwards, letting him be caught in the arms of one of the other dancers. Halfway through the set, she dragged Gladio close by the nape of his neck. He grinned, leaned in for a kiss, and she stage-slapped him, sending him to his knees. 

“Some boys never learn,” she said. “Right, girls?” She placed the toe of her shoe on Gladio’s chest, right below the hollow of his neck, and slowly pushed him down. He made a show of it, and when she kicked out, he flung his head to the side. His gaze slid over Noct like glass, and he winked at one of the girls at the side of the stage, who shoved a bill in the strap of his thong. 

Lady Lulu raised her other foot, and Gladio laced his fingers together underneath her before helping her vault _over_ him to land at the floor of the catwalk. The crowd applauded, and Lulu started working her way through it, pausing to tease and flirt with a few choice people, and Noct barely had time to register where her path was leading before he was staring up into the most beautiful brown eyes he’d ever seen. 

“Speechless, are we?” Lulu asked.

Noct’s brain, working on overdrive in the face of so many sequins, feathers, and Lunafreya costumes all at once, resorted to old lessons in etiquette. He pulled a bill out of his pocket—way too much, he knew, but it was too late to worry about it—took Lulu’s hand, and slipped the bill into her fingers as he bowed. 

“He _does_ know some manners,” she said to the crowd, and patted Noct’s cheek. “But you can’t just buy me with a fancy bow, baby. I,” she turned back to the stage, and raised her voice, “am a work of art, and need to be _worshiped_ like one!”

Gladio knelt on one knee, and she stepped onto him in order to get back on the stage. He jumped up after her, and Noct watched in a daze for the rest of the song, staring off into the distance with his hands clenched in his pockets. 

Because, just as she’d dragged the bill from Noct’s fingers, Lulu had covered her microphone with her free hand and whispered, harsh and soft: 

_You breathe in his direction, baby, and I’ll be after you like a fucking daemon._

 

\---

 

“Tell me if he or his buddies give you trouble, my flower,” Lulu said, when she and Gladio parted ways at the back of the club after the show. She waved to a few of the other Queens—Gladio noted that her longtime enemy was conspicuously absent—and tapped Gladio under the chin. “If you and that monster cat want to stay at my place for a while, you can.” She smacked Gladio on the ass for good measure, and he shook his head. It wasn’t like Noct knew where he lived. He just knew pretty much everything about it. _Damn._

He’d have to follow Lulu’s advice and lay low. Maybe take up another street in the evenings, find a spot that hadn’t been claimed yet. Work the door for some of the lesser-known clubs, maybe even take on that opening at the _Men! All Men!_ club that one of his friends had suggested to him. It was dull work—No one went to _that_ club anymore—but it was the best place to go if he didn’t want the prince following him around.

Gladio was about two blocks down when he felt the electric hum of magic creeping over his skin. It had been years, but there was no way he could forget the taste of the air, the feeling as though he were stepping into the empty space before a lightning strike. He paused, questing in the dark, and spotted movement in the alley between a take-out place and a discount clothing store. 

_Don’t risk it,_ said the reasonable part of his mind, the part that had seen him through early morning walks home for the past ten years. _Keep going. Let someone else sort it out._

A voice called out from the alley, and there was a spark of violet light.

_Noctis._

The thought overrode every fiber of logic in Gladio’s being: He raced forward on autopilot, taking in potential high ground, dangling fire escapes, the number of distorted shadows in the alley. He flipped on the flashlight on his phone and saw Noctis a few feet away, hands up, magic building between his fingers like a ripple in the air. Two men stood before him, one on the ground, the other holding a knife. 

“Noct! Get back!” Gladio curled his right hand into a fist and opened it twice, reflexively, old habits taking the reins of a new body. Noct stepped to the side, and the knife gleamed in the air as it was raised. 

There was no time. Gladio grabbed Noct by the shoulder and pulled him back, using the momentum to drive himself between Noct and the blade. 

There was a hissing sound, the feeling of cool air against his face, and pain, like his face had been opened up and doused in salt. Gladio wanted to _scream_ with it, to break apart beneath it, but he just drove his knee into the man’s gut and heard the clatter of metal on concrete. 

“Get the fuck out,” he said, stamping his boot down on the blade of the knife. “Or you’ll be lucky if you can _crawl_ by the time I’m done.” Wetness dripped down the left side of his face, hot and thick, but he blinked it away. “You don’t wanna know what _he_ can do to you.” He jerked his head towards Noct, who was, as fucking expected, not running for it like he should have been. 

The men fled. Noct said something—Gladio’s name, maybe, or an apology, or just a cut-off sound—but the adrenaline was draining from Gladio’s blood, his face burned, and he was _pissed._

“Go _home,_ ” he said. Noct took a step back. “The hell were you doing out here?”

“They wanted my phone,” Noct said. “I could’ve. Your face. Gladio, your—“

“I said go home,” Gladio told him. He dragged Noct out of the alley by his arm. “You had no right to be here. No right to follow me to my _work._ ”

“I can heal you,” Noct said, hurriedly. “If we go back to my place, I might be able to get a potion in time, and—“

“I ain’t your fucking _Shield,_ Prince Noctis!” Gladio’s voice echoed down the empty street. Noct’s face went pale in the dim light. “This ain’t my job. And now I’m gonna…” He raised a hand to his cheek, and it came back a dark, terrible red. “I’m probably gonna get a scar from this, and I’ll lose half my clientele in one night, all because _you_ can’t be left _alone!_ So go home. You show your face around here again, I’m taking this to the press.”

Noct stared at him, open-mouthed, for a long, dreadful moment. 

“Right,” he said. There was a finality to it that broke through Gladio’s rage, striking into the heart of him, but he could only grit his teeth against the pain. “Right. I get it.”

Prince Noctis turned on his heel, disappearing into the lights of the city. Gladio, left behind in the dark between the red-light district and the streetlights of the East end of Insomnia, swiped a shaking hand over his eyes and tasted blood in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that happened!


	7. Chapter 7

The curtains of Gladio’s apartment were strung up on hooks in the wall, letting in what counted for light through the smog of morning traffic. Honey lay belly-up in one of the windows, batting at a stained-glass sun-catcher that she couldn’t quite reach, and smoke from frying oil wreathed around landscape photos from beyond the Wall. On the couch, surrounded by embroidered cushions, Gladio lay back and tried to ignore the throbbing pain below his eye.

“I hope you like your bacon burned, flower,” Lulu said, where she stood at the kitchen with a pot holder around her hand. She was in her “dressed down” day clothes, which for Lulu meant denim _everything._ She grew up in Leide, and while her accent was almost gone, some desert roots were hard to hide. “You got your choice of extra-crispy eggs, toast with the black parts scraped off, and bacon that cracks.”

“It’s not too late to run to Hammerhead,” Gladio said, in a deadened voice. 

“Oh, yes it is.” Lulu bustled around the kitchen. “And this is the last time I cook for your miserable ass. What were you _thinking?_ Should’ve left that stalker alone.”

“Can’t,” Gladio said, sitting up as Lulu shoved a plate in his hands. “He’s kind of important.”

“Yeah,” Lulu said darkly. “I figured.”

Something in Lulu’s tone set off alarm bells in Gladio’s mind. “What’s goin’ on, Lu?”

His old friend collapsed in his recliner and clucked at Honey, who ignored her. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Yeah, now I _am_ worried,” Gladio said. He waited while Lu flipped through her phone and propped her feet on the coffee table. Finally, she squeezed her eyes shut and waved a hand in his direction.

“Crownsguard came to the club last night,” she said. Icy terror flooded Gladio’s veins, and his hands clenched on the plate. “A _marshal._ He asked for you. Didn’t have a name, but he had your description down right enough.”

“Then I do need to run.”

“No. Lay low. Take one of the streets on the other side of town for a while. You have enough for rent?” Gladio shrugged. “I’ll talk to some of the boys, see if we can work something out. But honey, why the _Crownsguard?_ You said your dad was rich, but Crownsguard answers to the Citadel.”

When Gladio didn’t respond, Lulu just grimaced and went back to trying to lure Honey off the windowsill. It was one of the reasons they worked so well as friends: If Gladio didn’t want to answer a question, Lu didn’t press it. He had a feeling she suspected more than she let on, but he knew whatever thoughts she’d drawn in her own mind would stay there. 

“No one will rat you out, Gladio,” she said. Gladio tried for a grateful smile, but he knew that when the Crownsguard found out the name of the man Prince Noctis had been taking home, it was only a matter of time.

 

\---

 

Noct didn't think it was possible to be grounded after reaching the age of eighteen, but apparently normal parenting rules went out the window when it came to avoiding a royal scandal. The keys to his car were taken and left in the hands of an apologetic but firmly unmoved Ignis, most of his free time was limited to whatever schedule Regis and Clarus forwarded to his phone, and even _that_ was being monitored. And if he'd thought that his conversation with Ignis had been awkward, that was nothing compared to the stilted, painful attempt at one he'd made with his dad. He came out of that one so furious and distracted that Iris had taken one look at him and canceled their practice for the day. 

It had been almost a week so far, and Ignis made it clear that Noct was the only one standing in the way of the investigation making any sort of progress.

"It's strange," he said, on the sixth evening. "I found a picture on the security footage of the garage with a view of his face, and I passed it on to Clarus an hour ago-"

"Good for you," Noct said, not looking up from his video game.

"I wasn't expecting the reaction, that's all." Ignis leaned on the counter, ignoring the dirty dishes in the sink, and ran a hand along the back of his neck. "He went cold. _Frightened._ I haven't seen him look that way since..." Ignis sighed. "Noct. You swear you don't know anything about this man? His real name, where he lives?"

Noct killed Prompto's character on screen, and made his player jump on his friend's fallen form until he respawned. "He said he'd take it to the press, Ignis."

Ignis was quiet for so long that Noct wondered if he'd forgotten he was there. "No," Ignis said. "No, I don't think he will."

Noct just rolled his eyes, but the surety in Ignis' voice started to wear on him. Gladio had every reason to go to the press if he wanted to. He could do it anonymously, go to the tabloids, have someone else call it in. Unless he didn't want to draw attention. Unless he was up to something, something big enough to ruin him. 

Except he didn't seem like the _type._ Noct knew telling Ignis this would do nothing but start another conversation about being too naïve and accepting the world as it was, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that Gladio wasn't the kind of guy to exploit people. Not really. Hell, he'd even run into the alley when Noct was cornered, he'd given Noct the signal to retreat, stood between him and the knife-

Noct felt his controller drop from clammy fingers.

He'd given Noct the signal to retreat.

It was a move he and Iris had practiced so many times that Noct could react in his sleep: Two flashes of the hand, open-close, open-close, meant he had to back up and let his Shield take over. It was part of a set of signals developed between Shields and their rulers for centuries. As far as Noct was aware, no one else was supposed to know.

_I ain’t your fucking Shield, Prince Noctis!_

"Noct?" Ignis moved around the kitchen counter, face pinched with concern. "Are you well?"

"I'm an idiot, Ignis."

"Harsh words, but I'll grant you—"

Noct rolled to his feet, holding onto the couch behind him for support. "Specs. We need to find him. If the Crownsguard gets to him before we do, he'll run again."

"Again?" Ignis drew himself up. "Noct, you can't mean..."

"You're thinking it too, Ignis." Noct pulled out his phone and dialed Gladio's work number. It cut off. Blocked, of course. "That wasn't—That was _Gladio._ "

Ignis stared at Noct for what felt like an age. The seconds ticked by, punctuated by the scream of Noct's character being assassinated on the TV. 

"I'll get the keys," Ignis said, striding to the door. "You call Iris."

 

\---

 

It was a risk, but Gladio couldn't afford to lay around all day watching Honey avoid him with the frustration of a cat whose peaceful life had been invaded by a sulking, irritable mess of a man. So he'd accepted a request from one of his regulars on his work phone, and took the chance to wait at the usual pick-up spot at the edge of the district. 

A black Crownsguard vehicle had passed by twice. Both times, Gladio ducked into the entrance to the subway until it disappeared from view, but it was making him anxious and jittery. He nearly canceled with his client, but the cost of the healing (which had, despite the doctor's best efforts and an expensive restorative, still left a raw, clean scar over his eye and cheekbone) was too much with his now limited budget. He dug his toe into the sidewalk and watched the oncoming cars streak by.

There was a scream of metal, and a furious shout from the other side of the street. Gladio looked round to see a black car go veering down the _wrong side of the road,_ make a sharp u-turn over a median, and rock to a halt not ten feet away. He threw himself back from the railing as the door opened. 

"Get in, Gladio!" shouted Prince Noctis, leaning over Ignis from the passenger's seat. Gladio didn't bother - He turned, heading for the subway. 

_"Gladiolus Amicitia!"_

Gladio swore as he collided with what felt like a brick wall in the middle of the empty sidewalk. He ran his fingers over the clear panes of a magical barrier, and turned back to see Noct holding out his hand, the taste of magic thick in the air. 

"It's us or the Crownsguard," Ignis said. 

Gladio could hear the crackle of the wall expanding behind him. In the distance, the sound of traffic bored into his mind, drawing with it the image of Crownsguard vans, the inevitability of capture, the long, awful drive to the Citadel where his father was waiting. In the Star of Lucis, Ignis' green eyes were tight with what felt uncomfortably like grief, and Noct looked like more of a mess than he was. 

"Not much of a choice," Gladio said, and made his way to the car. Ignis let out a heavy sigh, and Noct dropped his hand, letting the magic that flowed from it shudder and disperse. Gladio's fingers closed on the door handle. Then he wrenched it open, climbed inside, and Ignis wheeled the car around with a shriek of tires and an almighty roar of the engine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding Lulu: She met Gladio when he was a teenager working in one of the bars. He was on break in the corner of the bar, and she couldn't believe he could actually block out everything going on around him well enough to _read._ She invited him over and let him babble her ear off about the book he was reading/his new cat/etc. and after about thirty minutes, she was the founding member of the Gladio Defense Squad.


	8. Chapter 8

As usual, Noct was the first to fuck up.

“Look,” he said, twisting in his seat to face the sullen, red-faced form of Gladiolus Amicitia. “I’m sorry about the eye.”

“You’re sorry,” Gladio said, in a heavy tone. Noct bristled.

“Gods. Should’ve known it was you,” he said. “You sound just like him.”

Ignis hissed a warning, and stepped on the gas as Gladio lunged for the door. 

“Oh, _fuck_ no,” Gladio spat, as he was rocked back into his seat. “You don’t get to say that, your highness.”

“I agree,” Ignis said, and both Gladio and Noct turned to him. 

“Whatever you may think,” Ignis said, “And no matter what _some_ of us may say in times of heightened stress, we’re still your friends.” The only outward sign of Ignis’ distress was the way his hands shifted on the wheel and the tightness of his jaw, but Noct could see it clearly. He tapped him on the shoulder, and Ignis took a steadying breath. “We wanted to give you an _option,_ not antagonize you like feuding twelve year-olds.”

“Sorry,” Noct said. 

“If you wish, we can keep the Crownsguard off your trail,” Ignis said. “But I believe your father knows what you look like. It will be difficult to maintain for long.”

“And there’s Iris,” Noct said. Gladio’s response to _that_ wasn’t so much a wince as a full-body flinch. 

“You were asking about her.” Noct met Gladio’s gaze and held it. “I know I’ve been kind of… not on top of things, I guess. But whenever you asked about the Citadel, you kept going back to my Shield. You want to know if she’s okay? Well, it goes both ways, big guy.”

Gladio didn’t answer. He looked out the window, watching the houses of the residential area south of the university parkway flick by. Noct wanted to apologize, to reassure him, to say _anything,_ but the fury of their last meeting still stung, and he settled for staring after him. Gladio’s scar was stark against his light brown skin, and Noct had the strangest urge to touch it, to lay claim to the act that had shown that _maybe,_ he’d almost meant something to him.

The car rolled to a stop outside of Prompto’s house, and Ignis shut off the engine. He turned to Gladio, and Noct risked losing his hand to reach out, tentative, touching his former Shield’s knee. 

“You don’t have to,” he said. Gladio’s hand raised to Noct’s, and he jerked back, sure he’d gone too far. But all Gladio did was lace their fingers together, looking at him with that intense expression Noct could never quite interpret. He felt like he was starting to understand it now, though, and the thought that Gladio might back off, might disappear into the city and never get to reveal what it meant, made something deep in Noct’s chest twist painfully. 

“You’re right,” Gladio said. Ignis released the breath he’d been holding, and Noct felt Gladio’s hand tense on his. “She deserves to know.”

 

\---

 

Prompto’s house, Gladio was told, as they climbed out of the car and into the cool twilight of a long row of apartment complexes, was the only place they could meet that wasn’t under surveillance. His parents weren’t home, he knew Iris well enough that it wasn’t out of the ordinary for her to visit, and he was, according to Ignis, naturally talented at making light of the most awkward situations. 

He met them at the door, looking pale and nervous in the harsh porchlight. 

“H-hey,” he said, when Gladio appeared from behind Ignis. “You must be Gladio, yeah? Wow. Noct was right, you’re _huge._ Not like huge is bad. Oh, man.”

“Prom,” Noct said. “You’re babbling.”

“Am I?” Prompto raised his hands in the air. “Anyways, my house is your house, please don’t touch Mom’s statue of King Regis on the mantlepiece, she’s kind of obsessed with him.” He ducked into the house.

“Have I ever told you how fucking creepy that is, Prompto?” Noct asked.

Gladio forced himself to walk the five feet to Prompto’s foyer. A blast of air conditioning swept over him, and he scanned the clean, simple living room as Prompto dragged Ignis towards the pantry. His gaze kept stuttering to a halt before he reached the couches, where a dark-haired girl was sitting on the edge of one of the cushions, tapping her feet erratically on the carpet.

“Gladdy?”

Iris stood, and Gladio turned to her at last. Like Gladio, she had their father’s dark brown hair, but her face was almost exactly like their mother’s, right down to the narrow chin and curved nose. She was wearing black bike shorts under a red skirt—unorthodox workout gear for a Shield, but she’d always been eccentric. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been small enough to sit on his shoulders. 

She walked towards him in a daze, and Gladio hunched forward as he did when they were younger, making himself just a few inches smaller for her sake. When she reached him, she froze. 

“Hey, baby-girl,” Gladio said.

Iris slapped him. 

She put a surprising amount of strength into the blow, and Gladio was still reeling from the shock when she struck him again, _harder,_ right on the sore cheekbone where his new scar throbbed like a live thing. She grabbed the chain necklace that Gladio wore, the cross biting into her palm, and raised her other hand once again. Gladio didn’t stop her: He just stood there, looking into dark amber eyes that swam with tears, not even bracing himself.

“You left me,” Iris said. Her voice wavered, wobbling between too high and too low, thick with outrage and relief and deep, unspoken hurt. “You _left_ me.”

“I know,” Gladio said. “Iris, I’m sorry.”

“No!” She clenched her fist tight around the necklace, holding him in place. “You don’t get to _apologize,_ Gladio. First it was… First it was _Mom,_ and Dad didn’t know what to do, so it was just you and me, it was _us,_ you were all I had, and you _left_ me!”

To his left, Prompto was rocking on his heels, making frantic motions to Noct. Noct and Ignis pushed him into the kitchen, and Gladio could hear their low voices echoing against the tile. He lifted his hands and slowly pried Iris’ fingers loose: Her palm had red indentations from the necklace, deep enough to bruise. 

“You could’ve talked to someone,” she said, in a softer voice. “I thought you _died._ Dad kept looking, he never stopped, but… I thought there’d be no way you’d still be alive and not try to…” 

Gladio bent low and ran a thumb under Iris’ left eye, brushing away a stray tear. It was another habit that lay dormant just under the surface, so easily pulled free after years of disuse. Iris must have recognized it, too, because she raised a hand to his and screwed up her eyes against the tears that no Amicitia should be allowed to shed. 

“Come on, Iris,” he said, and lifted her about the waist as easily as he had when they were children. She wrapped her arms around his neck and wept into his shoulder, and if Gladio’s own eyes were too bright and his shoulders too tense, the others were kind enough not to mention it.

 

\---

 

Noct had never seen the Amicitia waterworks in action, but he learned soon enough that when they were on, it was a hell of a job turning them off again. Gladio and Iris were left on their own for a good half hour, whispering quietly on the sofa and clinging to each other like they’d vanish if they let go. Prompto, who hated to see anyone upset and felt an instinctual need to resolve other people’s problems, kept pulling out packages of cookies, disgusting dried vegetable chips, and sparkling water. He set them up like a barrier on the kitchen table, and only Ignis’ timely intervention stopped him from bringing a tray of glazed carrots—carrots, the _traitor!_ —to them like a desperate waiter.

“You guys don’t have to pretend you aren’t listening,” Iris said at last, using Gladio’s shoulder as leverage to pop her head up over the edge of the sofa. Prompto scrambled to a chair, Noct collapsed on the other side of the sofa next to Iris, and Ignis looked around the room for a seat of his own, gave Noct a pointed look for hogging two sections to himself, and sat on the armrest at his back. 

Gladio dragged a thumb over a rip in his jeans. “So, uh. Iris says you guys figured out why I left.”

“The bare bones of it, yes,” Ignis said.

“Your dad found a diary,” Noct said, for Prompto’s benefit. Prompto hadn’t been around when it all went down, even if he did know that it was a sore subject for pretty much everyone. “You didn’t write much, but the way Iris tells it, it wasn’t good.”

“If we had _any_ idea the pressure you were under—“ Ignis began. Noct shook his head in warning. “What I mean is, we would have listened, at least. I know we were all young, and likely couldn’t influence your father one way or the other…”

“I could,” Noct said. “You were _my_ Shield.”

“It wasn’t just that,” Gladio said. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, Iris’ arm wrapped around his, and his jaw worked like he was trying to pry it loose. “Dad was… the thing is…”

When Gladio finally found his voice, Noct felt a chill start to rise through him, twisting its way up from the pit of his stomach. The story Gladio painted was tempered over the years that lay between the truth and the telling, but nevertheless fraught with an air of isolation that felt terribly familiar. It filled in the blanks in the years since his disappearance: Clarus’ sudden bleak moods that took all of Noct’s father’s will to break through, the way Iris had to _beg_ to be his Shield before Clarus would even think of the possibility, the father-daughter days and the frantic manner in which Clarus spoke when Iris seemed even the slightest bit worried or down… Which Noct knew had only made Iris suppress her own emotions, only letting her cheerful mask slip when she was around Ignis or Noct. It was the reason Noct had been allowed to live on his own when the stress of watching his father’s deteriorating health had overwhelmed him, and why Clarus himself came to check on him after his first week alone.

Between Ignis, Noct, and Iris, they tried to piece together the rest for Gladio. It lasted a while—Prompto kept jumping up to grab drinks (and, unfortunately, carrots), and Ignis looked like he was about to pass out on his feet. Noct scooted over for him, and he slid into the empty space at his side with great relief. 

“You should talk to him, Gladdy,” Iris said. “I don’t want to push, but he’s _different_ now. He’s trying.”

“I don’t know about that.” Gladio looked suddenly anxious, tugging at the ends of his hair. “Dad’s, uh. I know what he’s probably going to say.”

“Is _sorry_ so bad?” Iris asked.

“Not about that.” Gladio wouldn’t look Iris in the eye. “I like my life, right? It’s good. I have friends, and my job works for me, but Dad’s not gonna see it that way. I don’t want him to think that I, you know, _went down a dark path._ ”

Everyone glanced at Iris, who rolled her eyes.

“Gladdy.” She nudged him with her elbow. “You can say it. Everyone knows Noct got busted for bringing an escort home, and then _you_ show up? I can put two-and-two together.” She frowned. “But yeah, he’s definitely gonna think that.”

Gladio groaned.

“I’ll come with you,” Noct said. Gladio blinked up at him, and he felt heat flood his cheeks. “If you want to. It’s my fault this happened, anyways, and you’re my… you were…” He couldn’t find the right words. His Shield? His _friend?_

“If you want to be his Shield again,” Iris said, in a shaky voice. “I won’t—“ Gladio stopped her there. 

“Do you like being his Shield, Iris?”

Iris closed her eyes, steeling herself. “Yes. More than anything.”

“Then I ain’t taking that from you,” Gladio said. He wrapped an arm around her and hugged her close, and Iris sniffed dangerously. “Hey, Prompto, right? You said you had dried kale chips?”

“Oh my god,” Noct whispered in horror as Prompto leapt up, eyes sparkling. Beside him, Ignis let out a subdued snore, head lolling back onto Noct’s shoulder, and Gladio laughed. The sound of it stirred something loose in Noct’s throat, and when he smiled at him, it was as though, just for a moment, all the years between them had folded in on themselves and meant nothing, nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mess with Iris Amicitia, y'all.


	9. Chapter 9

Morning broke early in Prompto's house, rising over the low buildings to pool in small gardens and cleverly rigged window-boxes. Gladio, used to sleeping through the early afternoon, dragged himself awake to walk Iris to her bicycle. They exchanged numbers while Iris leaned on the handlebars, and Gladio suspected that his sister felt about as exhausted as he was. 

"You can't disappear on me again," Iris said, shoving her phone in the pocket of her skirt.

"I wouldn't," Gladio said, but he knew Iris wasn't convinced. They were caught in an in-between place, not quite strangers but barely family, either, and Gladio didn't know how to bridge the divide. So it had to start there, with a promise Iris didn't know he would keep, light sliding over a face too old for memory, and the sound of the city waking up around them. 

Iris grabbed Gladio's hand and squeezed his fingers, and he bent down to kiss her on the forehead, just like he did when they were younger. Iris released him with a quivery little laugh, and kicked up the stand on her bike.

"Same old Gladdy," she said, and wheeled her bike around, heading off down the street with a creak of gears and the groan of rusted pedals. 

Noct waited for him just outside the door. Despite the fact that his body tended to shut down until noon at least, he was standing mostly upright, leaning against the door with red-rimmed eyes and a yawn so wide it looked like it hurt.

"You sure about this?" he asked. 

Gladio was the opposite of sure, but he knew that if he didn't go to the Citadel on _his_ terms, he was bound to be dragged there on someone else's. So he just nodded. Noct pushed himself off the wall and stumbled, and instinct took over again—Gladio held out an arm to steady him without thinking. Noct reached for him with his free hand, and slid his fingers through Gladio's bedraggled hair.

"Sorry," Noct said. "If this is too weird..."

"Nothing with us has been what you'd call normal, Noct," Gladio said. Then Noct's fingers tightened in his hair, and he was drawn down, their mouths meeting in a clumsy slide of lips and teeth. He couldn't say where this had started—Somewhere in the merging of his old life and new, when the looming presence of Noct as future king gave way to the man who would one day disappear beneath the crown. He wished he'd seen this Noct before. Wished there'd be more time, that the king wasn't already buckling with the strain of maintaining the Wall, that Niflheim wasn't a phrase that wove through the streets like the threat of the Scourge. He almost wished he hadn't run.

Almost.

The three of them—Even Prompto, who said he had a few hours to kill before he had to go to work—drove to Gladio's place after breakfast. Ignis zeroed-in on the pantry stocked with instant noodles and made distressed sounds over his spice cabinet. Noct ignored everything and went straight to work trying to befriend Honey, and Prompto, who understood what it was like to be the commoner in a room full of nobility, stood at Gladio's bedroom door and offered advice on his outfit. 

"You don't have anything black?" he asked. Gladio gave him a pointed look. It wasn't a good idea for anyone who didn't have a direct connection to the Crownsguard or Kingsglaive to rock their colors. "Just go for something comfy, dude. I have experience with awkward conversations, trust me."

"Who's a good girl, then?" Noct said helpfully, holding out his hand for Honey not to sniff. Gladio grabbed a long-sleeved flannel shirt and some baggy jeans, and pushed Prompto and Noct out so he could change. 

Noct gave him a skeptical look when he emerged. 

"That's what I'd call a farmboy aesthetic," he said. Gladio scowled at him and buttoned up his shirt to just below the collar. 

"Nah," Prompto said. "I'm thinking lumberjack."

"I'm thinking," Gladio said, flipping them both rude gestures. From his spot in the kitchen, Ignis snorted, and Noct looked betrayed.

They dropped Prompto off at his retail job on the way to the Citadel. Noct sat in the backseat with Gladio, and while Ignis did glance their way through the rear-view mirror once or twice, he didn't remark on how tightly Gladio gripped Noct's hand as the streets cleared and the Citadel's spires came into view. 

They parked outside the gates. Gladio didn't leave the car for a solid five minutes, just sat there with his head in one hand, trying to breathe. Ignis took the time to inform the Crownsguard of their arrival, and the way he spoke into the phone—quick and soft, like he was trying to win an argument before it started—wasn't exactly comforting.

"We don't have to—" Noct said, once, but the look Gladio cast him at that was forbidding enough to prevent him or Ignis from trying that again. He _did_ have to. He just had to remember how to walk, first.

He thought the Citadel would be smaller than it was in his memory, but if anything, the spires seemed taller, the hallways longer, the steps impossibly high. The guards at the gate saw them through without asking for identification, and Gladio felt Noct's hand rest on the small of his back as they climbed the stairs to the main entrance. His touch remained even when they fell into the press of people at the public reception area, most of them waiting for the elevator to the skywalk, and Gladio let Noct and Ignis guide him to a service elevator down a hall staffed by wary, aggrieved-looking Crownsguard. 

"Wonder if getting out will be this easy," Gladio said. Noct and Ignis were silent. 

They turned a corner into an abandoned hallway, and Gladio stopped dead. 

"Just go inside, Clarus," said an all-too-familiar voice, one Gladio heard on the radio at least once a week. _King Regis._ "You're doing no one any good by wearing a hole in the carpet."

"You'll excuse me, Your Majesty," Gladio grabbed Noct by the back of his shirt. His father's voice hadn't changed at all. Even through the unfamiliar sound of Clarus Amicitia losing his reserve, Gladio felt the years peeling back, unearthing the fear and disappointment of his early life. "If I am not sufficiently prepared for this."

"For goodness' sakes, you're both full grown men," Regis said. 

"Yes." Clarus' voice was cold. "And I should have _been_ there to see him become one."

Gladio, Noct, and Ignis held their breaths, trapped in the shadow of the bend in the hall. 

"I'm sorry," Clarus said. "Regis, I _can't—_ "

Gladio stepped out of the comfort of Noct's touch. Ignis and Noct reached for him out of a desperate need to keep the peace, but he was already turning the corner in full, his footsteps muffled on the thick carpet runners. He could feel the others running after him, heard the sharp hiss of breath down the hall, saw a shifting of black and gold robes as a white-haired man with his father's face raised a hand to King Regis' arm.

"Gladiolus."

"Yes, sir." He hadn't meant to do it, but it was so easy to slip back into the rote-remembered rules of his early life. Back straight. Shoulders level. Eyes forward. Not Dad, not Clarus, but _sir._

At twenty-two years old and a lifetime away from the boy who'd fled the Citadel with a bag of stolen jewelry, Gladiolus Amicitia stood to attention, a soldier waiting for the hammer to fall. 

Clarus crossed the hall in three long strides. Gladio willed himself not to step back, and felt the air go out of him as his vision was obscured by dark robes. His father held him like he'd never done, not even when his mother had left, even when Noct had fallen into a sleep from which no one knew he could wake. The hands that cupped the back of Gladio's head and clenched at his back held a tremor he hadn't expected to find, and the breath that came from his father's lungs hitched with the collapse of iron-willed control. 

" _Gladiolus,_ " he said again, and Gladio wondered how many times he'd said that word until it lost meaning, until it became what it sounded like in Gladio's ears: A name given to regret, to shame. The name of a boy Clarus had never bothered to know until he was lost to him.

Gladio closed his eyes.

"Hey, Dad."


	10. Chapter 10

Clarus Amicitia sloshed tea onto the pristine glass coffee table in the king's private offices, and cursed softly. 

"Let me," Gladio said. 

"No, son, I—" 

Gladio's hands stilled on the canister, mid-way through slipping it out of his father's grip. Their hands were the same size, now- Clarus' more calloused, more worn by age and the countless nicks and scars that a Shield picked up over the course of their life, but nevertheless too similar to ignore. Gladio had always viewed his father as an impossible mountain of a man, and the thought of being able to meet him at eye level, of him being _clumsy,_ anything but entirely composed, shook him more than he cared to know.

"It's fine," he said, and poured the tea while Clarus set about finding a napkin for the mess.

"His Majesty has informed me," Clarus said, as Gladio set down the tea and tried not to tug at his collar, "that you saw Prince Noctis out of a spot of trouble." He gestured to his own left eye, and Gladio scowled.

"He wouldn't _be_ in trouble if we hadn't gotten involved." _Sir,_ a corner of his mind supplied, but Gladio furiously tamped it down. "He had his magic, anyways."

“Yes, but you neutralized the threat without having to strike a blow,” Clarus said. “And without harming a citizen of the crown. That was… very well done, Gladio.”

“Feels weird to say, doesn’t it,” Gladio said. Clarus recoiled. “Shit. I’m sorry, that wasn’t…" He clenched his hands on his knees. "I don’t know how to do this.” 

Clarus smiled at him faintly. It looked odd, but only because it _fit_ him. Clarus was used to smiling more, Gladio realized. Something in that stoked the bitterness that weighed down at the back of his mind, but Gladio managed to keep it under control this time. 

"Neither do I," Clarus said. 

They sat in silence, staring down at their untouched cups of tea. Gladio had so many questions that he felt heavy with them. He opened his mouth to speak, and saw Clarus was already doing the same. They both stopped, watched each other, and let the silence slip into the vast distance that lay between them. 

"So," Clarus said, after a minute of this. Gladio braced himself, prepared for the worst.

"I'm told you own a cat."

 

\---

 

When Gladio and Clarus stepped out of the office an hour later, Noct rose from his seat so fast that he startled his father, sitting next to him, into knocking his head against the wall. 

"Noctis."

"Sorry, Dad. Gladio, are, uh. How did you..."

"Don't they teach princes _tact?_ " Gladio asked. He wrapped an arm over Noct's shoulders and reeled him in, causing Noct to let out a squawk of distress. Ignis, proving himself adept at treachery, only grinned. 

From where Clarus was helping Regis to his feet at the bench, the King and his Shield watched the three of them with curious, guarded expressions. 

"You'll consider it, Gladiolus?" Clarus asked. Gladio's cheeks flushed, and Noct felt his fingers tighten around his collar.

"Yes—Yeah," he said. "I'll free up my schedule." He turned to the king and bowed awkwardly, seemingly forgetting that he held the prince captive under his arm. Noct ended up bowing, too, and King Regis suppressed a smile.

Gladio didn't exactly run on the way back to the car, but Noct and Ignis did have to trot to keep up. 

"What was that about?" Noct asked, despite Ignis' warning glare at his back. Gladio shrugged. 

"Dad wants me to come over for dinner," he said. " _That's_ new. We never ate at the table when _I_ was a kid."

"Yeah, he tries to do it once a week," Noct said, which was, out of all the mis-steps he'd made in the past week, the wrong thing to say. Gladio shut off like a light, and spent the rest of the walk to the car in silence. 

Noct had retreated fully into himself by the time Ignis pulled up to the street outside of Gladio's apartment, and as such Gladio had to nearly shout in his ear to get his attention. He turned, and saw Gladio standing outside the car, leaning an arm on the roof with the open door bumping against his hip. It was a far cry from the first time Noct had seen him, all smug and self-assured, sizing him up with a humor that still managed to be impassive. Now, there was a plaintive question in his eyes, even if he was grinning at Noct's slack-jawed stare. 

"I asked if I could borrow you," Gladio said. Noct looked to Ignis, who raised his shoulders in helpless defeat, and climbed out of the car. Gladio took his arm, and a warmth ran through him that he probably shouldn't have allowed himself to feel. Noct's hand found Gladio's, and fit perfectly against the curve of his palm. 

"Good," Gladio said. "We have some things to discuss."

 

\---

 

"You're fighting a losing battle, charmless."

"Shows what you know." Noctis Lucis Caelum, prince of Lucis and chosen king of Astral prophecy, lay on his belly on Gladio's living room floor, rubbing his fingers together under Honey's nose. The cat blinked at him, slowly, and Noct brightened.

"See?" he said. "She loves me."

Gladio caught himself before he could laugh. Gods, this was a disaster in the making. Oh, there were times in the past when Gladio was too eager, quick to use pet names and endearments, and clients would get the wrong idea. One of them, the guy who bought him most of his plants, had been unnervingly persistent. It took Gladio a while to figure out how to strike a balance, but he'd never considered _himself_ to be in any danger. 

He remembered the way they'd kissed at Prompto's house that morning, and the heat of Noct's hand at his back. Gladio wasn't his Shield anymore, but there was still something in him that felt as though he'd been irrevocably tied to Noctis. He didn't think he could tear himself away a second time.

He didn't think he wanted to.

"Dad offered me a position with the Crownsguard," he said, and Noct looked up from his failed wooing of Gladio's cat. 

"What'd you say?" His voice was deliberately vague, the way it was whenever Gladio pushed too far into his life at the Citadel. Gladio sat down on his couch, pushing aside a heap of pillows. 

"I said to put it on hold." He raised an eyebrow at the way Noct rolled on his back, trying to entice Honey to sit on his chest. "I _like_ my life here. I'm close to getting an offer of a full time job at the Birds, if that shit with the marshal coming in didn't ruin it."

"Sorry about that," Noct muttered. Honey stepped on the prince's stomach experimentally, tilted her whiskers forward, and stalked off towards the kitchen. 

"My fault for not ending it sooner," Gladio said. "I'm... _proud_ of being an Amicitia, Noctis. But I never felt like I fit the title."

"Well, that's bullshit," Noct said. He rolled to his feet and draped himself lengthwise over the other side of the couch, legs dangling over the armrest. His head lay just at Gladio's side, where he was at risk of sinking into the embroidered pillows. "You can still be an Amicitia and not be Crownsguard."

"Not according to over six hundred years of tradition, you can't."

"So?" Noct wriggled, and his face disappeared under a commemorative Oracle cushion. His voice came out muffled and soft. "Ignis said we used to have a tradition of ringing a bell every time a member of the royal family entered a room. Every. Time. Just 'cause it's always been done doesn't mean it has to be."

Gladio felt that his father probably didn't share Noct's opinion on _that_ one. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

"Hey." Noct tapped him awkwardly on the cheek, just below the scar. "Wait 'til I'm king. Then I'll make a rule about it. A royal decree. Whatever." 

Gladio just lifted another pillow and dropped it over Noct's face. The younger man sat up, sputtering, and Gladio dropped his guard long enough to laugh. Noct smiled back at him, and he remembered the shock in Ignis' voice that night they were caught, the careful way Clarus skirted around asking about Gladio's choice of profession. 

"You know," he said. "We can't do this."

"Do what? Talk?" Noct sat properly-or as properly as he could with his legs tangled up in a nest of pillows. 

"I mean," Gladio said, carefully, "that you can't get involved with my work anymore. If you're gonna be king..."

For a moment, Gladio could see an air of King Regis in the sharpness of Noct's gaze, the narrow bones of his face. "I don't think that's what we're doing, Gladio," he said. 

"Yeah? We should stop that, too." He turned aside. He didn't like the way Noct was staring at him, as though he could read the jumbled mess of yearning, confusion, and residual duty vying for purchase in Gladio's mind. Gladio felt the heat of Noct's body as the prince pulled himself closer, his chin just over Gladio's shoulder.

"Do you want to stop?" he asked. "Whatever this is?"

"No," Gladio whispered. Noct's fingers slid under the back of his collar, tickling the fine hairs at Gladio's neck. He knew that if he looked at Noct now, it would be over. What was left of his resolve would crumble. An Amicitia had to be in _control_ of their desires, had to put the good of Lucis and the safety of their king first above all else. 

"Then fuck tradition," Noct said. "Don't let it decide for you."

Noct's thumb curved along the shell of his ear, and Gladio turned to him at last. Blue eyes peered up from a tangle of dark hair, and Gladio raised a hand to brush Noct's bangs from his brow. 

It was done.

"What the hell," Gladio said, as Noct climbed over him, his gaze bright and clear and all-consuming. "I guess you're right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladio: Hey, maybe we should show some discretion...  
> Noct, casually slipping his hands into Gladio's clothes: Show what.


	11. Epilogue

**Insomnia, Ten Months Later:**

Night had fallen over Insomnia. The magical wall that stood between the city and the growing power of Niflheim's forces cast heavy strands of light over the streets and along the reflective windows of banks and apartment complexes. One of those strands wavered over the side of Prince Noctis' penthouse suites, flooding his rooms with a soft violet light. It made the shadows of his bedroom lengthen and twist, and framed Noct's skin as though a fire burned at his back. 

Gladio, deep in the over-sensitive haze that enveloped him in the wake of release, slid his hands up Noct' sides. He rarely allowed himself the chance to settle into that feeling, to trust someone enough to relinquish what remained of his control, but with Noctis above him looking like an arcane spirit in the light of the Wall, he was willing. Noct's thrusts were short, a roll to the hips that kept his skin flush to Gladio's; He liked being as deep as he could go, and Gladio gave himself over to the way their bodies rocked together, the feel of sweat sliding against his fingers.

"Gladio." Noct's hands rested on Gladio's shoulders, and Noct fell forward even as his pace quickened. "Gladio, I. You should see yourself like this. Gods, I wish I could... I want to..."

Gladio smiled. Noct always started babbling when he was close, lately. It was the only time he could say anything remotely romantic without going silent for the rest of the day, and Gladio cupped his face with a hand, running a thumb over his open mouth. The nails in his shoulders dug in tight. 

Noct wrapped his left arm around Gladio's head, framing it, and sank down to press his lips to Gladio's jaw as he came. He held him for a minute, panting into his ear, and Gladio could feel the twist of his mouth as it tugged into a smile. 

"Oh, no you don't," Gladio said, when he felt Noct start to relax on his chest. Noct moaned in protest, but roused himself enough to pull out properly. He climbed up to Gladio's side, unbothered by the heat of their touch and the mess they'd made of the bed, and buried a hand in Gladio's hair. 

"We don't _have_ to go to Altissia," Noct mumbled, speaking into Gladio's bicep. Gladio snaked an arm around his lover's waist. 

"Pretty sure most of Lucis disagrees," Gladio told him, and Noct huffed. They had two days left before they were supposed to head out with Iris, Ignis, and Prompto to what was bound to be the most awkward political marriage between friends in the past two centuries. Lulu, who was taking over the Birds of Paradise now that the owner was retiring to Galdin, was understandably pissed. Gladio had cosigned as her business partner just a few months ago, and had to go through weeks of the cold shoulder before she saw fit to forgive him. 

_It's just two weeks,_ he'd said. But his father had given Iris a list of supplies that could have sustained them for much longer, and there was an air of tension in the Citadel that made Gladio's twice-weekly visits a source of unease. Iris had even been given their father's sword, the one he'd used on his trip to Accordo with the king. It was her right as Noctis' Shield, but she'd accepted it with none of the excitement that Gladio had expected from her. 

No one really knew what _Gladio's_ role was in the group, but no one questioned his place there, either. He was starting to get used to the feeling of being both grounded and rootless, lodged between two worlds. 

Noct's hand started to slow its movement through Gladio's hair. "You know," he said. "I think I..."

"Yeah?" Gladio glanced down. Noct was passed out on his shoulder, lips parted slightly, hair disheveled and damp against his cheeks. Gladio twined his fingers around Noct's. One day, that hand would bear the ring of the king. One day, he would have to ascend the throne, and begin the long task towards fulfilling whatever destiny the Astrals had placed upon him at the founding of his line. But even so, even through all of it, he knew that he would still have _this._

Gladio watched the light of the Wall drift by until only the tips of Noct's hair were stained with the violet glow of magic, and closed his eyes to the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then Clarus and Regis escape the city JUST in time, and go into hiding with Cid in Hammerhead. They hold a court of sorts there, wherein the three of them order an increasingly grumpy Cor to do their bidding while they hang out under umbrellas and laugh. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you all for reading! This one was definitely quite fun to write.


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